


Darkness Now Stirring

by Lomonaaeren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Artifacts, Christmas Eve, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn’t know why he’s helping Snape look through Grimmauld Place for a cursed artifact on Christmas Eve, except that it seemed like a good idea at the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness Now Stirring

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt left by goddess47, who asked for _Severus needs an artifact from the house of Grimauld Place (why can be wide open) and needs Harry's help in finding where it's hidden. If it happens to be a search on a holiday-eve and they realize neither has somewhere special to go, that would be a bonus_.
> 
> This story is set after the seventh book but AU, assuming Snape is alive.

  
Harry opened his front door to irritated knocking, and Snape was on his porch.  
  
That was the first unusual thing. Well, maybe the second one, after the fact that Harry was alone on Christmas Eve, because Ron and Hermione were on their honeymoon and going over to talk to the Weasleys—when Ginny would be there—just seemed like more trouble than it was worth right now. Harry scrubbed at his hair with one hand and watched Snape for a moment.   
  
No one was with Snape, of course. Not unusual for _him_ to be alone. But odd for him to stand there with his cloak drawn around his face against the heavy rain and a scowl planted on his features without immediately scolding Harry.  
  
“Were you bred in a _barn_ , Potter?” he finally said, when he had stood there and Harry had stood there and the rain had poured down for some time without interruption. “Invite me inside!”  
  
His voice would have made Harry sure it was Snape if his appearance hadn’t already done so. It was thick and rasping in the way that it had become after Nagini’s bite. Harry had come back in time to stem the blood loss, another thing Snape had never forgiven him for.  
  
“I didn’t know you wanted to come in,” Harry said mildly, and stood out of the way so Snape could crowd indoors and drip all over the entrance hall. Kreacher immediately appeared and began to scrub the floor industriously. Harry didn’t know if Snape noticed. “For all I knew, you were going to deliver your annual lecture about how I’m a failure from the comfort of the threshold.”  
  
Snape gave him a narrow-eyed glance, cast a Drying Charm on his cloak and robes—which just made Harry wonder why he didn’t have an Impervious Charm up already—and said, “You have learned _some_ sarcasm in the days since I knew you best.”  
  
He didn’t make it sound like a praiseworthy accomplishment. Harry grinned. “Yes,” he said. “I had good teachers.”  
  
Another quick glance, and then Snape seemed to decide the best way to respond to that was not to respond at all. He sniffed and said, “I have come here because an artifact I need to complete an experimental potion is likely hidden here, Potter. It was last reported as in the possession of Arcturus Black. I need it.”  
  
He waited. Harry waited. He was strongly reminded of the scene on the doorstep, except with the door closed he couldn’t hear the rain.  
  
Snape finally took a step forwards and hissed, “Has your deafness to common sense progressed to _true_ imbecility, Potter? I said—”  
  
“Right,” Harry interjected. “But you haven’t told me what the artifact is, or why you need it, or why you came here. Arcturus Black hasn’t lived in this house for a long, long time. Looking among his possessions, or glaring at whoever he gave them to, would seem like the thing to do.”  
  
“It is a stirring rod,” Snape said, every word stiff. “It was last reported here. I think it is hidden, one of the artifacts that Arcturus intended to come back for and did not have time to retrieve before he died. I need you to help me search for it.”  
  
Harry rocked back on his heels despite himself. He had thought Snape might ask for permission to look in Grimmauld Place, but not that he would want Harry’s help.   
  
“You didn’t want my help to save you from _dying_ ,” Harry pointed out. “Why do you want it now?”  
  
Snape ground his teeth. Harry wanted to tell him not to chip the enamel, which Kreacher was always telling him about, but refrained in the interests of getting Snape to detail what the bloody hell was going on some time this year.  
  
“The stirring rod is a delicate artifact, and an important one,” Snape said at last, looking all the while as if every word physically pained him. “With it, I can create experimental potions that I could not create before. It worked to allow Arcturus Black to invent the precursors to several important potions. Since long surpassed by more modern developments, of course,” Snape seemed compelled to add. “But they were important in their time.”  
  
“Of course, Merlin forbid that you ever say something nice about a Black,” Harry murmured, and smiled as Snape’s teeth ground again. For the sake of Snape’s enamel, he added, “But if you know where it is—”  
  
“I don’t,” Snape said, short enough that it sounded like a bark, “and since you have lived in this house for better than five years right now, you are likely to have a better idea than I am where he hid it.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Sorry, mate,” he said, for the pleasure of watching the colors Snape’s face turned. “I don’t have any idea. But you’re welcome to search.” He waved his hand at the house and turned around to go back to his drawing room with its warm fire, confident that Kreacher would keep Snape from disturbing anything that shouldn’t be disturbed.  
  
“Potter.”  
  
That was a different tone, anyway, different even than the tone Snape had said his name in when he woke to find Harry at his bedside. For the sake of the tone, Harry turned around again. “What?”  
  
“I—the search will go faster with two people,” Snape said, with a little helpless gesture that he compensated for by dropping his hands to his sides and standing up taller than ever, his teeth ground again and his head thrown back. “And since you are the rightful master of the house by inheritance, you may be able to enter rooms that I cannot.”  
  
Harry blinked. He hadn’t thought of it like that.   
  
And from the looks of things, it had cost Snape something to ask that. Maybe not as much as it should, maybe he was still being silly about what was ultimately a favor, but it had cost him. Harry wanted to encourage such efforts, not discourage them, for the sake of other people that Snape might someday meet and befriend if not himself. Harry sometimes felt as though he had adopted Dumbledore’s role of trying to make Snape live a kind of normal life.  
  
What else did he have to do?   
  
Harry thought about it a little more, then shrugged and said, “All right. Why don’t we start with the library? I know I’ve seen some books by Arcturus in there.” He came back out of the drawing room and started up the steps.  
  
Snape followed him scowling at his back. Harry ignored him merrily. This could be fun, in some ways. He had cleaned out the house enough to live there, and left Sirius’s room untouched as a sort of shrine, but he hadn’t investigated every nook and cranny of the place.  
  
And following him around and complaining to himself about how stupid Harry was had to be better for Snape than brooding in his own house, the way he mostly had since the war.  
  
*  
  
The Potter brat had discovered _dozens of new ways_ to make himself insufferable.  
  
Infuriatingly, most of them involved politeness, and suggestions about where to look once they got into the library.  
  
Severus was tired. He had thought for sure to track the Venus’s Stirring Rod to its hidden location among Arcturus’s old books and papers—only to realize, when he reached the private collector who now possessed them, that he had books and nothing else. The books offered no clues, either. Severus had had to fall back on earlier hints in the letters he possessed from two older Potions masters who had communicated with Arcturus, and go to Grimmauld Place.  
  
He wanted that stirring rod. He could create new potions with it, yes, but he could also win a faster way to respect than he had right now, find a way he could walk that would not leave him feeling as though no one other than him had ever fought in a real war.  
  
But to achieve that state of being, he had to find it.  
  
“Arcturus may have hidden it anywhere,” Severus said, as he watched Potter picking through the shelves, disarming some of the books with nothing more than a stroke of his finger along their spines, and carefully avoiding others. “It could be sewn into the lining of a book.”  
  
Potter glanced back at him. “Right, but most of the books in this library aren’t very large. How big is the rod?” He grinned on the last words, which infuriated Severus all over again, but he knew about making sacrifices so he could have what he wanted. He spread his hands apart.  
  
“Yeah, too big for the books in here.” Potter took a step back and looked around thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose this would work? _Accio_ stirring rod!”  
  
Severus ducked, but only two stirring rods came flying into the library and tried to leap into Potter’s hands. Of course, Severus realized as he straightened slowly back up, his heart pounding. He had been envisioning the results of that spell cast in his own lab, but there was no reason to think that Potter would have many Potions objects lying about. He caught both the glass stirring rods now and looked at Severus.  
  
“Larger,” Severus said, through lips that felt numb with scorn. “And made of amber.”  
  
Potter sniffed and put the rods in a basket on a table, which must be where he left things for his house-elf to collect, given the other odds and ends in it. “You didn’t mention the amber part before,” he said. “That would help us spot it.”  
  
Severus curled his lip at him. Disappointingly, Potter only raised his eyebrow in a way that managed to convey he had seen other curled lips before, all of them more impressive than Severus’s. Severus wondered for a moment if he truly _had_ used his years of life since the war so productively, and then shook himself. _Of course not, Severus, stop behaving like an idiot._  
  
“It will be _hidden_ ,” he said. “It might be Transfigured into a different object. It might be concealed behind wards. It could be anywhere.”  
  
“Then the Summoning Charm was a good idea, wasn’t it?” Potter pointed out.  
  
“It did not _work_ , Potter,” Severus said, and wished that he could break the smug brat’s face across his knee. Potter only gave him a faint smile, as though he sensed and discounted the wish, and turned away.  
  
“But we didn’t know if it would work until we tried it,” Potter said, bouncing towards the door of the library, and then paused and clucked his tongue back at Severus. “Although why am I saying we? I’ve been the one doing all the searching in here, and I came up with the Summoning Charm idea, and you’re standing there like a bat that’s learned what its feet are for.”  
  
Severus took a step forwards, powered by sheer rage, but stopped again when he saw Potter’s grin. Potter applauded at him. “There’s the old Snape back again,” he said approvingly. “You look alive now.”  
  
“Potter—”  
  
“You were the one who wanted to be a full partner in this search,” Potter said, his voice echoing hollowly as he stepped into the corridor. “Now come and be it.”  
  
Severus closed his eyes, promised himself a long mug of hot Firewhisky when this was done, and followed Potter out the doorway.  
  
*  
  
Harry found himself grinning as he climbed onto the top floor of the house and stood there, waiting patiently for Snape to catch up with him.  
  
This was _fun_.  
  
Oh, not necessarily the searching-for-an-artifact part. Harry thought there was a more than even chance that some other Black had found the stirring rod and destroyed it, or that Mundungus Fletcher had sold it along with the locket, or that Arcturus had simply hidden it so well that they would never find it.  
  
But it was fun to watch the way Snape bit his lip and let his nostrils flare as if he _really_ thought he could suppress his irritation, and it was fun to watch the way his nails rasped down the banister when he thought Harry wasn’t watching, almost peeling strips of wood away.  
  
Harry chuckled as he chose the first door in front of him, which had once led to the Black potions lab. Not having any use for a lab, Harry used it mainly as a storage place for all the other Black possessions that might or might not be valuable, and which he couldn’t be bothered to sort through right now. He suspected that an old lab might be a good place to begin searching for an artifact that had to do with Potions, though.  
  
“What are you laughing about, Potter?” Snape was trying to sound haughty and impressive, but it was hard when he was choking on dust.  
  
“Just something I thought of,” Harry said, fairly secure in the fact that Snape was too proud to ask after Harry’s thoughts, and grinned over his shoulder as he threw open the shutters to let in a little light from outside. Rain came in, too, and Harry hastily shut the windows again and cast a _Lumos_ instead. “This was the—”   
  
“Really, Potter, I can recognize a lab when I see one,” Snape said, and turned his head back and forth as though listening to the ancient thoughts of long-dead Black Potions masters. Maybe he really was, Harry thought. Well, better Snape than him. “You need not lecture me on tables and vials.”  
  
Harry grinned, because he knew it would disarm Snape. “No, I don’t have to, do I?” he agreed. “You take the right side of the room. I’ll take the left.” It didn’t really matter to him what side of the room they searched first, but he knew it would irritate Snape not to be able to make a decision. He turned away, humming.  
  
*  
  
Severus now regretted the personal vow he had taken against murder. It had seemed like a sensible thing, in the light of those first days after the war and the mad, heady rush of freedom at shedding his two masters, but he realized, now, how hasty one was to give up a weapon like violence.  
  
He had not taken a vow against _torture,_ of course…  
  
But when such thoughts strayed towards seriousness, he saw Albus’s disappointed eyes in his mind, and had to give them up. He shook his head and focused on the side of the lab Potter had assigned him, scanning the tables and the shelves for any sign of an irregularity that he would not expect in a well-set-up Potions lab, which this one certainly was.  
  
He saw nothing, however. The shelves were exactly as thick as they should be, and all the cupboards were empty or held only dust and leaves. The books sat in no hidden compartments, and nothing moved, not even when he disturbed them in random patterns. The drawers opened on small files, but he found them easy to read, all of them about brewing potions in familiar ways. No coded notes of a genius here.  
  
Potter was having no luck on his side of the lab, either, as his headshake showed when they came back together in the middle. Of course, he probably wouldn’t recognize the stirring rod if he didn’t know the value of it, either, Severus thought.  
  
“Are you _sure_ that a Summoning Charm wouldn’t work?” Potter asked. “Maybe we just had to be in the same room with it to make sure it heard the charm.”  
  
Severus gave him a flat, dead stare that at least impressed Potter, if the way he drew back a little and tried to blink was any indication, and then turned and studied the middle of the lab, the area that both their searches had overlapped and ignored. He took a short step forwards and laid his hand on a notch in the wooden wall beneath the window.  
  
“That’s been there forever,” Potter said behind him, sounding bored. “Kreacher says he remembers Sirius throwing acid at the wall or something.”  
  
Severus stiffened despite himself at the mention of Black, but reminded himself that he was alive, despite the scars on his throat and the damage to his voice, and the mutt was not. He ran his fingers over the notch, and smiled. Yes, it was deeper than an acid burn would have suggested, and the bottom pointed down, like an arrow. He had seen similar signs before, drawn in books that described times when Potions masters had to hide secrets from their enemies but left clues for their apprentices.  
  
Severus hooked his fingers into the bottom of the notch, and drew down.  
  
There was a faint creak, the kind of sound the books in the shelves had so signally failed to make, and a floorboard opened in front of them.  
  
“Wow! How did you find _that_?”  
  
Severus could imagine many different ways to react to Potter’s naïveté, but the tone of the words disarmed him. He looked over his shoulder to find Potter gaping, and then the smile that broke across his face reminded Severus of—  
  
The way that he would look if one of his ridiculous friends at Hogwarts drew his attention to a mystery he had overlooked. His glance in Severus’s direction was _admiring_ , with a warmth that Severus found himself hunching his shoulders against.  
  
“It was a Potions master’s sign that something is hidden here,” he said shortly, and knelt on the floor to reach into the open space. “Usually notebooks with the old recipes that were taught only from master to apprentice.”  
  
“It’s still great.”  
  
Severus shot him a puzzled glance. He supposed, given Potter’s affinity for exploring the mysteries of Hogwarts, that he should have expected the boy’s love of hidden spaces and secret signs, but the way Potter looked at him, it was as if Severus himself was the riddle to be unraveled, rather than revealing one. He hadn’t even glanced at the floorboard’s mechanism or what lay under it after that initial, fascinated look. His eyes were all for Severus.  
  
It was ridiculous for Severus to feel flattered. He had wanted Potter to pay attention to him at Hogwarts, yes, but for the sake of saving the boy’s ridiculous _life_ , not because he wanted to be an object of curiosity to him.  
  
Yet, apparently, he was.  
  
He busied himself about the books in the hidden cupboard, so that he would not have to look up and have Potter catch a glimpse of his flushed face.  
  
*  
  
 _Snape’s blushing._  
  
Harry could think of any number of things that might have caused Snape to blush in the past, things that he _should_ have blushed over, but none that would make him do it now. He watched him for a few minutes as Snape searched through the books, and his movements became more and more hurried, his shoulders hunching as though Harry’s gaze was an insult.   
  
_He’s blushing because of me._  
  
Perhaps that _was_ it. Harry knew he had never looked at Snape before the way he was looking now. He would have thought Snape was over caring when someone looked at him, but perhaps it being Harry meant it was different than usual.  
  
Different for Snape, maybe embarrassing. For Harry, something fascinating and irresistible. He shouldn’t, but it had been a long time since he had made someone blush. Ron and Hermione getting engaged seemed to have made Ron impervious to embarrassment, probably because Hermione had read book after book to him before they finally had sex.  
  
Harry lounged against the wall, and waited until he thought Snape was fully occupied with the book in front of him. Then he said, “Are there any clues in there to where Arcturus Black might have hidden the stirring rod?”  
  
Snape glared at him. Harry grinned back. He didn’t find the glare as intimidating when it wasn’t hiding promises of poor marks or sinister threats about killing Dumbledore. He wondered if Snape knew how much power over Harry he had lost after the war, when he had both stopped being a professor and revealed his true allegiance.  
  
“That is what I am _attempting_ to ascertain,” Snape snapped, and turned another page, bending over it again.  
  
Harry shook his head. “No one else would say it like that, you know,” he pointed out. “They would say they were trying to find out. What made you start using a vocabulary like that? Is it required of you during Potions master training, or something?”  
  
Snape stiffened and finally snapped the book shut, turning around to face him. His head was high, and the faint flush still covered his face from his cheeks to his chin. “Have I done something to you, Potter, that you insist on tormenting me so?” he asked in a low, ugly voice. “Some debt that is not paid, some sin I have forgotten?”  
  
Harry shook his head and turned away for a second. Already he felt bad about trying to provoke a reaction out of Snape, because while Ron would react with joking and teasing, that wasn’t Snape, and Harry should have known it. “No. Sorry. I was—joking, and not thinking about the consequences. Sorry,” he added over his shoulder, and moved to the doorway of the lab. “Let me know when you find something that you think points to where Arcturus hid that thing.” And he took up a stance facing into the corridor with his arms folded, so Snape could be reassured he wasn’t peeking.  
  
*  
  
Potter had _apologized._  
  
And for nothing more than making Severus uncomfortable.  
  
Severus spent some time blinking, more than he really should, at Potter’s back before he turned back to the book. The sooner he discovered the hiding place of the stirring rod, the sooner he could leave Grimmauld Place, and the presence of Potter, who was turning out to confuse him more than even learning to brew the Draught of Peace (a formidable challenge to his teenage self) had.  
  
But his mind lingered on Potter, long after he had recognized the spiky handwriting on the page and been sure that, yes, Arcturus Black _had_ written this book and loaded it with his obscure references. Not a code, but it might as well be, with the allusions to myths and legend and Black family ancestors and herbs that Severus usually only knew by their English and Latin names, and not their Hebrew.  
  
Potter was being unexpectedly pleasant. He had apologized. He had seemed to understand what Severus was feeling in the last little while, and turned away from it rather than shame him further by staring. He had agreed to help search the house in the first place, when Severus had to admit that he could have done it himself, although perhaps he would not have found this notch as quickly, not knowing what part of the house had held the Potions lab.  
  
Severus did not entirely understand what Potter was thinking, but then, he never had. At least these actions seemed to come from a different place than the old, mad determination to risk his own life.  
  
And that was all to the good. It meant Severus had not lived entirely in vain, and neither had Albus died, if Potter had learned to think before he leaped.  
  
 _But what would he leap to this time?_  
  
Severus stepped out of the room uncertain, but willing to find out. Potter was further down the corridor, studying a closed door with intensity that seemed meant to keep him from looking in Severus’s direction. Severus walked up and stood next to him. It seemed that, for once, he was not the one who needed to feel uncomfortable, and he would savor that for all he was worth.  
  
“I thought there might be some clues in here, if Arcturus Black also left some clues in the Potions lab,” Potter said quietly, nodding to the shut door and stepping away. “Kreacher just told me that this used to be his bedroom when he lived here. Of course, it was other people’s bedroom, too, and they might have changed things, but at least it’s another place to look.”  
  
Severus flicked his eyes sideways, counting the number of doors, and then nodded. “That makes at least one notation in the code make sense,” he murmured, casting a spell that would tell him of wards and hexes embedded in the wood. A net of red and glowing lines showed up, and he snorted. “It said that something important was hidden six steps from home.”  
  
“But what—” Potter seemed to recognize, before Severus had to tell him, that this bedroom was six doors down from the lab. He nodded and moved out of the way, though he drew his wand as though Severus would require his help with the wards.  
  
Severus didn’t. These spells were dense, but not sophisticated; the sheer number of them was meant to intimidate, and drive back any intruder with the thought of the effort it would take to break through them. But Severus had worked through such nests of curses almost for fun when he was in the Dark Lord’s service, and this took him no more time than it would to undo one of those. Once the last hex dissolved into glowing particles of light, he reached confidently for the handle again.  
  
A blast of power flung him back, and Severus caught himself against the far wall, shaking his head and staring at the door. As he watched, more lights moved into place, small rotating ones that formed the shapes of much stronger wards.  
  
His first thought was that there must be something in the notebooks Black had left behind to explain this, but then he recognized this particular pattern, and snarled.  
  
“What is it?” Potter leaned around him to see the door, and then clucked his tongue. “Those are blood wards, aren’t they?”  
  
“Yes.” Severus clenched his fists. He could feel the stirring rod, or whatever was hidden behind the door, almost taunting him with its nearness. “I know of no way of breaking through them, unless of course you happen to have some stray members of the Black family floating about?”  
  
Potter gave him an odd look, and stepped around him. For a moment, Severus thought he would cast some Auror spell, and then Potter’s hand fell squarely in the middle of the wards. Severus bolted forwards, a defensive spell all ready. He should have known that Potter hadn't forgone his desire to leap right into the middle of danger simply because he was older—  
  
The wards shivered and vanished. Severus took a step back, waiting, but this time, the lights didn’t animate and return to the door. He glanced at Potter, who shrugged and gave him a look that was almost apologetic.  
  
“I’m technically a Black now, since I inherited the house and the property,” Potter said, and moved out of the way so that Severus could access the door.  
  
Severus opened his mouth to shout something, but thought about it, and controlled himself, and shut his mouth again. He had wanted Potter to come with him for a reason, hadn’t he? He had insisted that Potter search the house with him when it was clear Potter would have trusted him to look on his own.  
  
And without Potter, he wouldn’t have got through the door. At the very least, he would have had to go back to the drawing room or wherever else Potter had concealed himself, and drag him out to ask how to take down the wards.  
  
That was worth something.  
  
Severus tapped the door with the palm of his hand. It swung open with a click. It must not have been latched fully, or else the hinges were in better shape than Severus had thought. He grunted and stepped into the room, glancing around.  
  
There was a large bed near the back of the room, leaving the front clear for a tangle of boxes, cupboards, trunks, chests of drawers, and so many other pieces of furniture that Severus revised his time for the finding of the stirring rod until tomorrow. It would probably take him ages to get through this mess.  
  
Then he remembered the notebooks. Yes, Arcturus Black had made searching for the stirring rod difficult—unless one was intelligent enough to possess the key. He reached for his pocket, not taking his hungry gaze from the boxes and chests. He would find it, and no one else would have the chance again.  
  
*  
  
Harry stepped back, more than content to watch Snape work. He wondered if the man knew that he licked his lips every so often as he glanced up, between the pages in front of him and the boxes spread out in front of him.  
  
It was enticing.  
  
It was—Harry didn’t know if he could put words around what it was, or if Snape would want him to even if he could. Harry could imagine the derisive laugh that would curl Snape’s mouth if Harry spoke to him what he was feeling now.  
  
But they were also alone here, and there was no reason for Harry to think Snape would tell other people what he had said. Snape kept to himself, had no friends, and it wasn’t like there were a lot of people who would believe him if he repeated Harry's private conversations. Oh, someone might, and pay him for it, but Snape would have to deal with a firestorm of criticism, and Harry no longer believed that the man thrived on being insulted.  
  
Snape moved forwards, his mouth half-open, his tongue tapping against his teeth. And then he reached out and touched the lid of a certain trunk, nodding as he looked back and forth between it and an illustration that was evidently drawn in the book.  
  
“Potter!” His voice rang out so peremptorily that Harry was moving to help him before he realized what he was doing. “Lift this up.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and heaved at the trunk, reminding himself that if it was as simple as tapping the trunk to make it lighter, Snape would have done that already. And the trunk _did_ seem to weigh more than it should, as though someone had stuffed it with buckets of water, which Harry thought he remembered reading were dense.   
  
When he had it completely upright, he realized why Snape had wanted him to move it. There were more blood wards—the kind that Harry thought should really be called _family_ wards, since he wasn’t a Black by blood—gleaming on the side of the trunk. Snape probably knew he wouldn’t be able to touch it.  
  
He laid his hand flat on the trunk under the lock without hesitation, though. When the wards launched out to attack him, Snape said, in a flat, calm voice that Harry thought he would have responded better to in class than the sneering instructions Snape had given them, “ _Volonte_ Arcturus.”  
  
The lock froze, the wards froze, and then the lock clanged and jangled onto the floor. Harry panted, and between one blink of his eyes and another, Snape had flung the lid of the trunk open and was bending inside.  
  
He came out with a shining amber thing about the length of the space between his hands that he had shown Harry earlier, and turned it back and forth. The greed in his eyes, the possessiveness, made Harry smile a little. He reckoned that Snape would always look like that at something he really desired.  
  
 _Would he look at me like that?_  
  
Harry didn’t know. But he wanted to find out. And the worst Snape could do was reject him. After the years following the war and some of the things he had seen in his Auror career, Harry no longer thought rejection was the worst thing that could happen to him.  
  
“Snape,” he said quietly, and Snape frowned at him as if demanding to know why Harry was making him look away from the stirring rod. Harry took a deep breath and hoped his instincts hadn’t led him astray. “Can you—do you think you would want to come back later? Maybe on Boxing Day?”  
  
Snape moved his head imperceptibly, but it wasn’t a shake, Harry thought, holding his breath as he watched. It _wasn’t._ “Why should I? I will be brewing. And I think no other artifacts that could intrigue me are hidden in this house.”  
  
“Something might be here,” Harry said, holding his eyes. “Something that I want, if you don’t. Something that you—that you might want if you tried it. Sir.”  
  
So in the end, maybe he was a bit of a coward after all, because he couldn’t actually say why he wanted Snape’s company. He could only hold his gaze and hope that Snape wouldn’t question him too deeply. Well, and as it turned out, he could flush under that gaze, but go on lifting his head and waiting there. He wanted this too much to let mere fear make him back down from it.  
  
*  
  
Severus could not believe what he was hearing.  
  
Or not hearing, really. Potter, who had acquired some subtlety and some understanding after all, had left the offer, the temptation, hanging in the silent shadows between them. And Severus was free to pretend that he didn’t understand, and back away if he wanted.  
  
But—  
  
The offer was _there_. And Severus had comprehended it. He could not pretend that he had not, any more than he could forbid himself from reading writing that he glanced at. The message leaped into his brain and hung there like one of the ratty old curtains in this horrid house.  
  
A horrid house that Potter was living in by choice. A Potter who had learned some kind of subtlety, and some kind of admiration for him, and some kind of fascination, if the way his eyes ran over Severus was any indication.  
  
Perhaps Severus should have felt insulted. Perhaps he _could_ have, if he had thought of himself as just another possession Potter wanted to have, and use, and toss aside.  
  
But he didn’t think of it that way. He thought of the way he had saved Potter’s life, and killed his own mentor, and made sacrifice after sacrifice so the brat could live, and he thought perhaps it had gone over the line of atonement and into something he was _owed_. Potter bloody well should have admired him before this, and listened to him, and given Severus some respect.  
  
 _But better late than never._  
  
“I can’t do Boxing Day,” he said, letting his fingers feather along the amber stirring rod, and watching the way Potter’s breath caught. _Interesting._ “But perhaps two days—no, three days after that? The twenty-ninth?”  
  
Potter nodded eagerly. Then he seemed to think he was too eager, but didn’t take it back, instead saying, “Yes, sir. I mean, Snape. I can do that.”  
  
Severus thought about telling Potter to go back to using the title, but in the end, contented himself with an enigmatic smile and a sweep down the staircase. Perhaps one day it would even come to first names. Let Potter not think he was getting _too_ comfortable, _too_ close.  
  
When they reached the front door, Potter surprised him again by reaching out and shaking his hand. “Happy Christmas, sir,” he said.  
  
Severus thought of saying it back—  
  
And didn’t. Let Potter work a bit, chase a bit. It would be good exercise for that boy’s body as well as that brain of his.  
  
He inclined his head, and shook the hand, and walked out the door with a small, airy, floating spring in his step. The door didn’t shut for a long time behind him, and only then did he permit himself a smile.  
  
 _Two artifacts, perhaps, gained in one night. Not a bad haul.  
_  
The rain had stopped, leaving no traces of wetness in his face to blind him as he Apparated.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
